a letter to my husband.

Dear Tristan,

You’re so tolerant of my decorating and redecorating and rearranging and painting and repainting and crafting and creating and selling things on Craig’s List to buy different things on Craig’s List and bringing home junk and making it less like junk. In our nearly 5 years of marriage you’ve gotten so used to our house changing on a sometimes daily basis. In fact, you’ve become so used to this that last night, when I started painting our kitchen black while I was making dinner, you didn’t even notice right away. And when you did notice your response was “Oh, Kate,” followed by laughter.

When you left this morning, you knew I was pondering painting that entire wall in the kitchen black. In fact, that was why I couldn’t sleep last night. Because I was thinking about painting walls black. You said you thought it’d be too much to paint the entire wall black. And I said I agreed. But then, after I made lunch for Gabriel, as I stood staring at the wall, I was overcome. I can’t quite explain it. But I got this urge and I just couldn’t resist it. While I usually just wait and see how long it takes you to notice these things, I thought it’d be best to give you a warning today. Our kitchen is black. And I love it. (Don’t worry, I didn’t neglect Gabriel while I painted. He protected me from dragons and ogres with the toilet bowl brush. The new, unused toilet bowl brush, of course. It makes a great sword.)

With much love,


P.S. Crap. You just texted me to say that you’re coming home for lunch. So, uh…. surprise!


And now to touch up the line at the ceiling and then put my new black kitchen back together again!

Check back really soon for better pictures.


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